The Big Idea/Chapter 8

T was half an hour before Jimmy recovered sufficiently to talk the thing over quietly with the office manager. The very imagination that had troubled him for so many years—that had made his life as a coal-miner miserable, and finally had enabled him to conceive this idea—now descended upon him with overpowering force.

He forgot Mr. Hope—forgot the opposition to success that he had met—had still to meet. In his mind’s eye the plan had already been adopted, put into execution. The factory was built; the coal, lying there all these years idle underneath his mother’s farm, was burning, and yielding up its precious heat for the great furnaces. And he—Jimmy Rand, once only a mule-boy and miner in the Fallon Brothers mine—had done it all!

After a time he calmed down. First he must telegraph his mother and Anne; then he must arrange to go home for a day or two and see them. Since the man from whom he had to obtain permission to absent himself from work was Mr. Cooper, Jimmy had no difficulty in getting leave to go.

He settled that point quickly, and then went into one of the other offices to send his telegram.

At lunch that day, which the office manager, Jimmy and Mr. Merkle had together, Cooper planned what they should do that afternoon to settle Mr. Hope.

“Just let him alone,” said Jimmy. “You don’t have to do anything. He’ll settle himself if you let him alone, can’t you see that?”

Mr. Merkle was obviously worried. “What should I say if R. G. sends for me?” he wanted to know.

“Tell him the truth,” said Jimmy. “That’s the easiest thing you could do, isn’t it? You’ve nothing to hide.”

“And you make that date clear,” added Mr. Cooper. “Just as you did to us. That’s the big point—show him that Hope told you the idea the evening of the same day Jimmy first came, in here.”

Merkle nodded.

“And when Hope comes to you after lunch now, don’t you put him wise. You keep mum. Act just as if nothing had happened. Tell him you’re ready to tell the chief all you know.” Jimmy chuckled at the double meaning of this, “Just let him go ahead with his plans in his own way. He’ll get his, all right, or I don’t know a thing about the chief’s methods.”

The chemist nodded again emphatically.

“He tried to pull that crooked business on me—that you couldn’t do to Merkle and get away with it.”

“And listen, Merkle”—the office manager laid his hand earnestly on the little chemist’s arm—“there’s going to be a lot of money in this if it goes through—plenty for everybody. I’ll see you get what you earn—and that ’ll be a good slice. You know me, and you know the chief. You want that in writing, do you?” he finished with a grin as he remembered Merkle’s account of his very last business transaction with the secretary.

Mr. Merkle offered his hand. “What you say it’s like a government bond with me, Mr. Casper,” he declared emphatically.

Mr. Leffingwell Hope had his interview with the president, just as he had planned. He went in alone, directing Merkle to wait outside until he sent for him.

Mr. Wentworth listened with his customary attention to what his secretary had to say. His eyes narrowed, and his lower jaw came out a little when Mr. Hope stated specifically that the idea was his own; but he did not interrupt.

Mr. Hope was very brief. He merely set the salient features of the scheme before his principal; then he called in Mr. Merkle.

The chemist entered and seated himself silently; his face wore an expression of grim determination.

“Explain my idea to Mr. Wentworth, Merkle,” said the secretary grandly, leaning back in his chair.

The chemist swallowed hard. This was an outcome he had not expected at all. He looked at Mr. Wentworth, wondering whether he should go all over what he had already said just that morning, or whether he should make a clean breast of the whole matter. Before be could reach a conclusion the president took the decision entirely out of his hands.

“Mr. Merkle, how long have you been working on this?” Mr. Wentworth had not changed his easy position at his desk; but his voice now was very alert—low-toned, almost soft, but tense and vibrant. It was the real Mr. Wentworth talking now: the man of action; the forceful, dominant personality that had placed him where he was in the business world.

Mr. Leffingwell Hope noticed the change at once, and opened his eyes wide with surprise.

“Be exact, Mr. Merkle; I mean exactly what date, if you can tell, did Mr. Hope first consult you about this?”

The chemist pulled out his little note-book. “I’m a methodical man, Mr. Wentworth; the exact day it was April 17 last, in the evening.”

“Thank you.” The president jotted down the date, and reached for his telephone. “Mr. Cooper, please. Oh, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Wentworth speaking. What was the date upon which Mr. James Rand was first employed by us? Yes; April 18? Thank you. Was that the day after his first interview with me, according to your remembrance? Thank you.”

The president jotted that down also, hung up the receiver, and turned briskly to his secretary.

“Mr. Hope, when you repeated to me that conversation you had on April 17 with Mr. Rand, did you repeat it correctly?”

“Why I—why, yes, sir, as near as I could remember it,” stammered Mr. Hope.

“Thank you.” The president rang his buzzer. “Ask Mr. Rand to step in here immediately.”

The girl was back with Jimmy in less than a minute. The president did not ask him to sit down, so he stood just inside the door, looking from one to the other of the three men, and wondering what was about to happen.

“Mr. Rand, Mr. Cooper informs me that you were first employed by this company on April i8 last.”

“Yes, sir—I don’t remember.”

“His records show that. You do remember your first interview with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it your remembrance that it occurred on the day before you started with us?”

“Yes, sir; I’m sure of that.”

“When you left me that morning, you went directly into Mr. Hope’s office?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you told him the business that you had wanted to tell me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was it what you told me this morning—in substance, I mean?”

“Why, yes, sir, of course.”

“Did you mention a gas-well in Alberta?”

“No, sir.”

“Has your mother any property in Alberta?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Wentworth turned again to his secretary. Mr. Hope had paled visibly.

“Half an hour after you dismissed Mr. Rand you repeated his conversation to me, Mr. Hope. It is my remembrance that it concerned a natural-gas strike in Alberta, near property held by this young man’s mother. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir, I—yes, as near as I can remember it,” said Mr. Hope.

“You said nothing to me about burning coal without mining it. I assume he said nothing to you along those lines.”

“No, sir, he did not.” Mr. Hope answered more firmly this time.

“Just a moment, Mr. Rand.” Jimmy’s anger was proving too much for him; he had taken a step forward toward Mr. Hope, with his fists clenched.

The president went on swiftly:

“Thank you, Mr. Hope. I think I understand the circumstances now. You may go, gentlemen.” The president indicated Mr. Merkle and Jimmy.

“Mr. Hope,” he went on, when they were alone, “for some years you have been my secretary. I have had no cause to criticize your work unduly, nor do I think I have treated you unfairly as an employer.

“What has just transpired needs no additional words between us. It is entirely self-evident. Explanations are futile, recriminations idle. As you know, Mr. Hope, integrity of character is one thing this company demands above all else. For a person without it there can be no place in this organization. I must ask you therefore to let me have your resignation, to take effect immediately.”

Mr, Hope stood up. He hesitated an instant, then met the president’s eyes squarely.

“Very well, sir. If that is what you wish, you shall have it at once.”

Then with a punctilious little bow, he turned and left the office.